What Fear Makes Men Do
by jennifermorisons
Summary: They tell you anger is red, but they don't tell you fear is white. Set immediately following the end of 1x11.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **For the anon who so sweetly asked for an immediate followup to the end of Inquisition. Heavy duty spoilers for the latest episode of Reign, don't say I didn't warn you!

* * *

They don't tell you fear is white. They don't tell you that when you walk into a room full of shouting and see the love of your life draped over the side of a tub shaking and coughing, when you see your worst enemy on the floor with a knife, that all you can see and feel is just...white. Void. Like your heart has vacated your body by way of your stomach, and your blood has been replaced with panic. They tell you that anger is red, they tell you that red at the corners of your vision is just the rage taking over. They never tell you that fear is white, fear is all consuming, and fear is nowhere near as easy to shake off than rage.

Bash had barely stepped into the room when he felt that fear take over, in a way he'd never felt before. He'd been scared almost his whole life; he was very familiar with anxiety and with dread. But this, this went beyond that. This wasn't fear for his station, or for his mother, or for his own life. This was terror. He could deal with bleeding out on a physician's couch. He could deal with the idea that he might never see his home or his brothers or his father again. He couldn't deal with the idea of Mary's death. So he moved. He was running towards her before his mind caught up with his legs, ignoring the guards who warned him against poison. If there was poison in the room, Mary had already inhaled it. And he'd rather breathe it all in than let a single more vapor enter her lungs. He reached her side in seconds, grabbing a towel and glad that all the guards had averted their eyes without a warning or a glare. Bash had barely reached into the tub, and he was already begging her to tell him what happened, his voice gentle and soothing and shaking with worry.

"Catherine tried to kill me," she gasped, wrapping her arm weakly around his neck as he hauled her out of the tub.

She was soaking wet and shivering in his arms, and could barely hold her own weight up. Bash immediately slid his arm underneath her knees, cradling her against him before turning, keeping her body away from the guards and wrapping her up in the towel. He was drenched with water from her body, his tunic sticking to his chest, but he kept Mary against him anyway, one arm wrapped protectively around her body and the other one cradling the back of her neck. The fear still hadn't faded when her words finally sunk in, and he hissed and spat at Catherine so violently that he could have sworn that his very words were colored red. He ordered her chained up, he called her an animal, and he couldn't find it in him to be sorry for any of it. The next few seconds passed in a blur, with Catherine screaming at Mary and Mary shaking violently against him as he held her tightly.

"I know what kind of man he is," Mary said defensively, her voice still raw and a cough cutting off her words, "and I have made the _perfect_ choice. Because together we have killed you," she spat at Catherine, and the guards finally dragged her away.

In any other situation, Bash could have kissed her for defending him, he could have kissed her for her faith in him. As it was, the only thing on his mind was getting her to safety.

"Are you alright?" He asked her gently, panic still clouding his tone as he cradled her head, pressing his lips to her forehead, her hairline, the top of her head, everywhere he could reach to reassure both of them that she was still alive, that he was there, that he wouldn't leave her for anything in the world. Bash felt Mary nod against him, but his hands still moved to her back, to the sides of her arms, patting insistently against the towel to make sure she was whole and safe. "God, Mary, what did she do to you?" He whispered, smoothing his palms over her shoulders and feeling her shaking grow more and more violent with each passing second.

"Poison in the tub," she gasped, her voice thin and raw and strained. "She had a knife at my throat, she was ready to die to kill me, I don't- I don't know, I don't _know_," Mary managed, her voice breaking and tears popping into the corners of her eyes, ready to spill over at any moment.

Without wasting a second more, Bash swept her back up into his arms, carrying her like a bride, or a child, and took long strides out of the room, to get her away from the tub and the poison and the fear. She tucked her head under his chin as he walked, bouncing slightly in his arms, and one hand slipped out of the confines of the towel to cling to his tunic. Now it was his turn to fight tears as he rushed her back to his rooms, the weight of realization dragging him down by the shoulders and the heart. He'd nearly lost her. She could have died. Had he been seconds later, had the guards not yelled, had the door not been broken down at the exact right moment...she would have been gone. Now it was impossible to tell who was shaking - her, or him. They reached his rooms quickly, and Bash set her gently on the bed, sitting upright and still clawing at his shirt.

"Don't leave me," Mary begged, her eyes wide and her face pale. It broke Bash's heart to see her this way, and he nodded, grabbing her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. His other hand cupped her face, his lips finding her forehead and holding the motion.

"Never," he assured her against her skin, willing her to relax, willing the fear and the horror to leave her body, to leave their surroundings, to leave anything colored by Mary's presence. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this treatment, didn't deserve to have to look over her shoulder with every step she took. For God's sake, they were supposed to be keeping her safe, and she'd been attacked more times since coming to France than she had at that damned convent. She'd lost one of her ladies, one of her _friends_, and she'd lost love more than any girl deserved to even if she lived to be a hundred. "I'll never leave you, Mary, you have to know that," Bash murmured, dropping his head to rest his forehead against hers, now kneeling in front of her as she sat on his bed, shivering and gasping for air. "I just need to send for some things. I won't leave the room, I swear to you, on my word."

His promise held weight, and Mary nodded slowly, holding onto his hand until the last possible second. He could feel her eyes on him as he crossed back to the door, opening it and barking at one of the guards. As soon as the man came near, he lowered his voice, not wanting to alarm Mary any further. After ordering the guard on his door to be tripled, he asked for a few more things to be sent up, along with a few people, and then withdrew his head, shutting the door behind him. He strode back to Mary quickly, sitting next to her and gathering her into his lap without preamble. Her breathing was still labored, and he rubbed circles into her back through the terrycloth of her towel gently, holding her against his chest and hoping she couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating. "You're safe," he murmured into her hair. "You're safe, I've got you."

Mary nodded against him, one hand resting weakly against his shoulder. "Bash," she started, lifting her head slightly to find his eyes. "What if she's already won?"

He could see the deep rooted fear in her eyes. Could see the realization dawn in her soul just as it began to do the same in his own heart. They had no way of knowing if Mary had already inhaled too much of Catherine's poison. They had no way to know if she was going to make it to morning.

"Bash, what if I'm already dead?"

His grip on her tightened, fingers curling into her arm and her leg so tightly he was sure to leave even faint bruises, but Bash couldn't think of that at the moment. All he could think about was the terror in Mary's eyes, and cling to the knowledge that she wouldn't die. He wouldn't let her. He might not have the power, he might not be able to order the air in Mary's lungs to purify and cleanse itself, but he would be damned if he allowed his queen to die in his arms.

"You're not going to die, Mary," he whispered against her, emotion coloring and clouding his words, cracking them in half.

"If I do-" she started, her voice regaining strength but costing her a cough for it.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "Don't do that. Don't make me make promises I can't keep. You're not going to die. You won't. You can't. You can't leave me like this, Mary, I love you."

There was a long pause before Mary let her head fall back onto his chest, tucking her forehead against the side of his neck. "I know you do," she whispered softly, and he thought she might be crying again. He held her closer, swallowing around the lump in his throat and casting his gaze up at the ceiling to try and force the tears stinging his eyes back to where they came from. Bash didn't know how long they sat there, how long he counted Mary's breaths and heartbeats and made sure she was still moving and breathing, when there was a knock at the door, and it was opening slowly. He tensed immediately, on guard and worried, but when a blonde head poked through the door, he relaxed.

"Greer," Mary gasped, her eyes wide, and Greer flew through the door, Lola and Kenna following a moment later. Alec trailed behind, checking the hallway and locking the door behind all of them, and looked at Bash before nodding once and taking up station at the entrance to the balcony. Meanwhile, Bash was being swarmed by women who were fussing over the girl in his arms. He was at loathe to let go of her, but Lola placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a pleading look that would have put the most darling puppies to shame. So he loosened his grip on Mary before standing slowly and carefully, bending to help her regain her footing. Kenna had clothing folded in her hands, Greer had tears in her eyes, and Lola's spine was impossibly straight, carrying the weight of the world and her queen's life on her shoulders. It was jarring, seeing how much they loved Mary, and made him feel inadequate for a moment. But then Greer was grabbing his hand, her eyes big and teary and vulnerable, and Bash froze.

"Thank you, for getting her out of there. And thank you for calling us. I don't know what we would have done if-" she trailed off, and Lola touched the blonde's back gently.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Bash answered, squeezing Greer's hand once before letting go and touching Mary's shoulder. "I'll be on the balcony if you need me," he told her softly, kissing her temple, and she nodded, mouthing a thank you.

Nodding back, he took his leave immediately, heading for Alec and glancing over his shoulder at the girls once. They'd already gotten Mary out of the towel, helping her dry off with one that must have been folded in Kenna's stack, and Lola was holding the old one up to maintain their queen's privacy. Love shone through with every gentle pass of Kenna's hands, with Lola supporting Mary's weight and dignity, with Greer helping her into a nightgown, and Bash felt the lump in his throat get bigger. She couldn't leave them. She wouldn't just be leaving him behind; she'd be leaving her best friends without a word. They'd lost too much already, and with Aylee's death so obviously forefront on their minds, he couldn't imagine them going through it again. Not with Mary.

"What happened?"

Alec's voice drew him away from the scene, and Bash ran both hands over his face in near agony as he had to recount the scene to Alec. He said it in a rush, spitting words out like fire, barely drawing breath until he finished. "She _inhaled_ it," he said worriedly, stepping onto the balcony and leaning against a windowsill. "She could be dying right now and there's nothing I can do about it." He'd never felt more helpless in his life, and he ached to do something. Alec's hand clapped him on the shoulder, a stark contrast to the soft comfort of the women just out of earshot, and he glanced at his bodyguard nervously. "Alec, if she dies, I don't-"

"She won't die," Alec said calmly, and something inside Bash relaxed ever so slightly, like all he'd needed was to hear that out loud. "She's a fighter. She'll be fine." He dropped his hand, unwinding the bandage from it and showing Bash the wound he'd received from Catherine's poison. It was red and angry looking, but the ugly green marks and black veins had all but disappeared. It would be healed within a week at most, and Bash's eyes widened. "Those girls in there are miracle workers with poultices," Alec said, and something dangerously akin to fondness sparked through his eyes. "I'd be willing to bet they've got some sort of magic tea they'll send up for within a few minutes."

"You know Catholics don't believe in magic," Bash started, and Alec smiled.

"Ah, but I do. And I've got belief enough in those girls in there for all of us. Have a little faith, Sebastian. She'll pull through," he assured Bash.

Alec slipped away a moment later, and Bash could hear him speaking with Lola from a distance. The door opened and shut again, but Bash didn't move. He'd stand vigil on the one weak spot in his quarters all night if he had to, as long as it meant Mary would survive the night. Hours passed. The door opened again, and shut once more. Hushed whispers, tea splashing into porcelain, Alec coming out with a cup for Bash and insisting he drink it as well. It was disgusting, but he was assured secondhand that it promoted healing, that it would cleanse his body. He didn't know if he believed it, but if pretending would help, he'd pretend and playact until the sun rose. Alec stood vigil with him, his body relaxed and steady as opposed to Bash, who was nearly vibrating out of his own skin with nerves.

The sun was just starting to rise when he heard footsteps near him, and a knock on one of the balcony pillars. When he turned, his eyes sleepy and his posture sagging with exhaustion and worry, he saw Lola and nearly felt his heart stop beating. "Is she alright?" He asked worriedly, taking a step forward.

That's when he saw her smile, and the weight of the world fell off his back.

"She's asking for you," Lola said simply, nodding and touching his arm as he passed. "Bash," she said quietly, and Bash stopped, looking back down at the girl next to him. Images of her taking care of him when he'd been near death just a few months prior came to him immediately. That felt like a lifetime ago. They'd both aged about a thousand years since she'd read mythology to him in his haze of pain. "Just...please be careful with her. She's been through a lot."

"She's been through too much," Bash agreed, running a hand through his hair and mussing it in all directions.

Lola studied him for what felt like ages, her eyes boring into his soul, and then nodded again, a small smile touching her lips. He couldn't help but feel like he'd just passed some sort of unspoken test that the girls had posed to him. Lola released his arm and headed back onto the balcony, and he finally noticed the cup of tea in her hand, right before she was offering it to Alec. Turning back towards his room, Bash headed in slowly, fixing his hair in vain as he went. Kenna and Greer were laying in his bed with Mary between them, covers pulled up to their necks and bodies huddled close together. They were whispering, and Mary's eyes were heavy with sleep, her hair tangled, but her color was back, and when Kenna whispered something in her ear, she laughed. Bash had never heard anything more wonderful in his life.

"Ahh, Prince Charming!" Kenna called, laughing. She'd seen him first. "We're sorry for commandeering your bed, but you can't really expect us ladies to sleep on that sorry excuse of a couch, now can you?"

"Kenna!" Greer hissed, scandalized but clearly holding back a laugh.

Mary didn't bother; her head fell back as she laughed unrestrained, her body nearly squirming as she giggled between two of her best friends. It wasn't the laugh of a delicate noblewoman, it wasn't the laugh of a queen. It was the laugh of a girl who was happy to be alive, and Bash was happy to hear it. So he bowed, enjoying the joke, and assured the girls it was no trouble at all.

"After all, it's certainly not the first time I've had multiple women in my bed," he teased. He earned a pillow thrown at his face for his snark, and he ducked with a laugh.

"Sebastian, don't be cheeky," Mary laughed, sitting up and stretching her hands over her head, taking the blanket with her and drawing groans from Greer and Kenna, who tried to pull it back down to where they were laying. "Oh calm down, I'm just trying to get out," she giggled, crawling over Greer and then tucking both of the girls in gently before she pulled a robe on from where it was laying over a chair. He wasn't entirely sure who it belonged to - Lola, Kenna, Greer, Mary, or even himself - but she wrapped herself up anyway and reached for his hand as she walked. Bash took it immediately, letting her lead him out onto the balcony, where Alec and Lola were speaking in quiet tones. As soon as Lola saw Mary, though, she smiled and crossed to hug her queen quickly before returning to the warmth of Bash's chambers, Alec following a few moments later and leaving Bash and Mary alone. "I just wanted to say thank you," Mary finally said, turning to him and resting her hands comfortably on his chest. She'd done that less than twenty four hours ago, and yet it still seemed like it had happened to someone else, in a different lifetime.

"Mary," he started, clearly unsure he deserved any sort of thanks, but she cut him off with a single tilt of her head. She was good at that regal look that had a way of making a bastard silent.

"You saved me," she said seriously, and it was clear neither one of them was taking this lightly. Something flashed in her eyes for a moment, but whether it was remembrance or fear or anything else, he wasn't too sure. "But more than that, I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you for everything you've done since I landed you in this mess." Her hand came up to cup his cheek, a fond smile on her lips.

"I'm just glad you're safe," Bash said simply, earnestly, his hands on her waist, and Mary nodded. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, and then leaning down quickly on impulse to slant his lips over hers, he kissed her quickly and gently before pulling back, smiling softly at her. "I need to speak with my father. I'll have a cook send up some breakfast for you and your ladies," he promised, his hand drifting to her lower back to guide her back to her friends.

"I'll see you later?" She asked, and he wondered if he was imagining the hope in her voice.

"Of course," Bash said, inclining his head before giving Alec strict instructions to keep watch. With one last bow to the ladies and another quick kiss from Mary - that had Kenna catcalling at both of them - he was gone, his body nearly sagging in the hallway with the lack of sleep and the sheer relief that Mary would be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I hadn't actually planned on continuing this fic, but the response was pretty overwhelming in the demand for a sequel, so I decided to use Tessa's prompt (Bash teaches Mary how to swordfight) as the follow up. Dedicated to Tessa, of course, and to all of you beautiful people who loved the first chapter so much.

* * *

Catherine wasn't executed for what she did to Mary.

Bash had never been more full of rage in his entire life than when his father stayed the executioner's hand. He'd offered some sort of deal to Catherine: exile, instead of death. She agreed to the divorce, she agreed to live in a nunnery for the rest of her days, and everyone got what they want. Everyone, of course, except Bash, who was still shaking with a mix of fear and anger, his blood singing with the need for Catherine's head, with the need for an _end _to this. Mary had been through too much; so had he, but that was the last thing on his mind at that point. He argued with Henry to the point of stupidity, his jaw clenched and his teeth grinding together as he demanded an explanation for the king's behavior. Catherine might have been a queen, but so was Mary. This warranted a beheading at best, but Henry wouldn't hear anything of it. By the time both of them were yelling at each other, a guard stepped in, recognizing murder in each man's eyes. Bash backed down out of respect for his father, but when it came time for Catherine to leave the castle, he insisted on watching her go. Part of him was still worried she'd find a way to weasel out of it.

He gained no pleasure from seeing her in a simple gown with her hair down and none of her elegant jewels adorning her. He took no pleasure in seeing the crown stripped from her head, even though he knew it would soon be turned over to his mother. Instead, he spat at the former queen's feet and ordered the servants to scrub and polish the crown, more than a little worried Catherine had found a way to poison that too. They'd never be free of her presence while she was alive, no matter what country she lived in, no matter how strict the convent she resided at was. So as soon as she was gone and his father informed him that Diane was on her way - for their wedding, no less - he left. Bash took stairs two at a time until he reached his chambers, where Mary had been staying for the last week. He'd been too much of a nervous wreck to let her out of his sight, and she seemed to share a similar view, because she hadn't protested once. Her ladies were frequent visitors to the room, and he was constantly coming in to find Kenna lounging on his couch, or Greer fussing over Mary's appearance, at least ten new dresses now slung over his desk, or Lola simply talking with whoever was in the room at the time. He didn't mind it; in actuality, something about it made Bash feel more relaxed than he could have hoped for after such a nearly successful assassination attempt on the woman he loves. It was nice to know Mary wasn't alone, and nicer still to know that these girls hadn't rejected his feelings towards their queen, or his - admittedly - precarious presence in her life. Still, as much as he enjoyed spending time with the women in Mary's life, when he walked into his room that afternoon and found her sitting on the couch alone, reading a book, he was more than a little grateful. He had something in mind he wasn't entirely positive the ladies would agree with just then.

"Bash," Mary smiled, setting the book aside and standing slowly. She'd regained all of her strength since that awful night he'd never be able to forget, but she was still careful. Crossing to her side quickly, he nearly hovered, his hands just a few inches from her waist and her arm. Heat radiated from her body to his palms and back again, but he still waited for her to smile and take his hand before he rested his other one on her waist. "Is everything alright?" Her voice was worried, her forehead creased, and he realized he must look as frustrated as he felt.

"Catherine's gone," he said quietly, lifting his hand to brush some hair away from her eyes distractedly. "My mother should be here soon. My parents will be married before the end of the week," he explained, his voice sounding far away.

"I don't understand, I thought this was a good thing?" Mary asked, clearly confused, and he shrugged.

"It is. It just..." he trailed off, his fingertips curving a path behind her ear, a few strands of raven hair following. "Can you feel it?"

"Feel what?" she murmured, catching his wrist and brushing her thumbs along the inside of his wrist.

"That big black cloud. Like even with all of this, we still aren't safe."

Mary's facial features softened, and her hands moved to his face, her thumbs stroking soothing circles into his skin. The action nearly forced him to relax, and he leaned into her palm, closing his eyes like an overgrown cat. She was whispering to him gently, reassurances flowing from her mouth like wine, and he wanted nothing more than to get drunk off of them. But they still had things to do, Bash still had things to take care of. He had a queen to protect, and he couldn't be at her side every waking hour, though he wished he could. So with a quick kiss to her palm, he pulled away and moved to his wardrobe, digging around through the back until he found what he'd been looking for. The bundle of clothes felt small in his hands, and when he turned around, Mary was watching him in clear confusion.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, almost nervous, before setting the bundle down on a small table, reaching out to take her hands. When she nodded - still wary, he noted, but it was progress - he smiled slightly, trying to put her at ease; much like she'd done for him before. "I want to show you something..._teach_ you something. But a lot of people might not agree with it, and..." he hesitated. "I don't want what she nearly did to you to ever happen again, if either one of us can help it. I want to make sure you can defend yourself, should the need arise a second time."

Mary looked almost defensive at that, pulling her hands away to brace them on her hips. "I _can_ defend myself," she started, and Bash had to swallow a laugh at how indignant she looked.

"I'm sure you can," he soothed, reaching for her again, and she grudgingly let him gather her in his arms, "so think of this as...honing your skills. I can't be there all the time to come to your rescue, Mary."

"I'm not asking you to-" Mary started, and Bash realized suddenly that he was going about this all wrong.

"Mary, please. For me. For my sanity, just..._humor_ me," he asked quietly, and her facial features immediately softened with fondness...maybe something more, but he didn't dare hope. She'd break his heart if he started hoping too soon, he was sure. So when she nodded, he straightened his spine and forced himself to smile. "Thank you. Just...put those on and pull your hair back," Bash asked almost awkwardly, fumbling over his words and quickly taking his leave of the room. He shut the door firmly behind himself, giving her some privacy, and hoping beyond hope that his old clothes would fit her. It'd been years since he'd worn the old things, and he didn't have time or the luxury to ask someone to make her a pair of her own trousers. Not when his mind was still in an irrational panic for his life. Time passed by too slowly, and he was nearly ready to knock and ask her if she needed help when her head peeked out of the door, her hair braided deftly over one shoulder.

"I look _ridiculous_," she hissed, her cheeks flushed bright red, and Bash looked around at the empty hallway before gesturing for her to open the door. When she did, he had to fight back a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. The breeches were a tad bit too tight, hugging her skin and her curves in a way that made him immediately need to look away and count to ten - backwards - before he was sure of his self control. The shirt, on the contrary, was too big, nearly falling off one of her shoulders, and he could see that she'd had to leave her corset on to avoid looking entirely indecent. Her feet were bare, and as ridiculous as she thought she looked, he found he rather liked seeing her in his clothes, no matter how long it had been since he'd worn them.

"You look lovely," he countered, taking her hand and pulling her from his room quickly, heading down the hall and to the armory as fast as he could with Mary on his arm. They reached the room without incident, though as soon as she recognized the door she paused, saying his name as a question. "Trust me," he reminded her, opening the door and letting her in before locking it behind them, needing privacy. After all, convincing a queen to wear breeches would be a scandal in and of itself - teaching her to wield a sword? That'd be the gossip of the castle for months. He took a deep breath before pulling down two of the lightest swords they kept in the castle, the blades dulled and impossible to cut through skin unless one of them stabbed the other with viciousness that he wasn't sure Mary was capable of. At least, not with him. He hoped. Shrugging out of his coat and toeing off his own shoes, Bash dropped them to the side and flipped one of the swords to offer it to her handle first. Mary took it warily, holding it delicately and eyeing it like it was going to come alive and bite her. "Don't be afraid of it," Bash told her seriously, leaning his own against the wall before coming up behind her, so close he could feel the heat radiating off of her body. Wrapping his arms around her, he took her hands in his and showed her how to hold it, his voice low in her ear. "This is called a hand-and-a-half sword. See how you can hold it with just one hand, but there's all this extra room here? If you move your hand up like this," he adjusted her grip gently, "you can hold it with both hands. It's meant for the killing blow, for if you're fighting someone stronger than you and need more strength to block, or if you're in battle and you lose your shield. It's more versatile than a single hand sword, but not as heavy as a two hander," Bash explained calmly, showing her where to place her hands a few more times before releasing her, trying not to hate how cold his chest felt without her back pressed against it. "It's a good sword to learn with. You'd probably have less trouble with a smaller one, but-"

"Don't treat me like I'm a weak little girl," Mary sighed, leveling him with a glare, and he stopped, smiling in spite of himself.

"Mary, if I thought you were a weak little girl, I'd have assigned you several bodyguards, all of them much more scary than Alec could ever hope to be," he told her gently and seriously, picking up his own sword again and turning it over in his hand. "If I thought you were a weak little girl I don't think I'd have ever fallen in love with you. Now defend yourself," he said, pointing at her with the dull point of his sword before hacking at her side. He moved with nearly impossible slowness to give her time to react, her sword hitting his at an angle that made her wince. "Next time, twist your wrist like this," he advised, showing her. "It'll keep the block strong, and stop your arm from getting too sore." Bash paused, waiting for her to mimic his movements, and then hit her sword again, pleased when she grinned instead of flinched. "See the difference?"

"Can I hit you now?" Mary asked, still grinning, and Bash laughed louder than he had since she'd nearly been poisoned by Catherine.

"You can _try_," he teased, and then had to duck and throw his sword up when she swung at him overhanded. The force of her blow made them both shake a bit, and he laughed again, the sound much more surprised. His eyes were wide, and Mary looked a little shocked herself, like she didn't think she was capable of that.

They went on like this for a few more minutes, Bash showing Mary the simplest of moves, how to position her feet, the proper way to advance, and the proper way to fall back. Stepping closer to her, he forced her to back up, but when she turned to check that the ground behind her was clear and free of things to trip over, he grabbed her waist with her free hand. "Never turn your back on your enemy," he reminded her seriously, and Mary blinked at him.

"But you're not my enemy," she said softly, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"No, no I'm not," he murmured back, reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek once with fondness before backing up. "Again?"

Mary nodded, shifting her feet like he'd taught her, and held her sword at the ready. "Again," she confirmed, advancing on him before he could swing at her, her sword coming up in an uppercut. Her form was a bit off, but she'd caught him off guard by making the first move - then again, she always had. Blocking quickly, Bash stepped back a few paces before starting to move to the side, intending to circle her. Mary had learned her lesson, though, and refused to let him corner her, instead advancing and meeting him pace for pace before striking again. Bash blocked, parried, and soon they were clashing against one another, steel ringing out like a melody. She was good at this, he was surprised - and pleased - to realize. She had a quick wit and an innate and easy ability to learn, and was light on her feet. She wasn't as strong as him, but she was faster, and though he intended to go easy on her, after a few minutes he realized he didn't need to. Mary kept blocking every attack he threw at her, and though there were more he could have used, ones he knew she wouldn't be able to parry, he stuck to more traditional moves, and was impressed at her ability to keep up. She'd always managed to impress him, of course, and by now he really shouldn't have been surprised by it. But when she managed to back him up to the balcony, his lower back pressed against the thick stone railing, he grinned wide eyed at her, her sword resting gently at the hollow of his throat.

"I believe the term is _'yield'_?" Mary asked cheekily, her face flushed and her chest heaving to take in enough air from the physical exertion. Her hair was starting to fall out of the braid she'd kept it locked in, and her eyes were bright. Bash really should have yielded, really should have given her that victory - after all, she'd well and truly beaten him - but instead he knocked the sword out of her hand with his palm, dropping his own, and hauled her against him to kiss her. She relaxed against him immediately, her lips moving with his, and he was grateful for that. He still felt like he wasn't allowed to kiss her, sometimes. Still felt like he wasn't even allowed to look at her, let alone hold her in his arms. But Mary didn't seem to share a similar view, if her hands tangling in his hair were any indication. His palm pushed against the small of her back, keeping her body close against his, and she sighed into his mouth softly, rising onto her tiptoes to press her lips more firmly against his.

That was - of course, when there was a loud knock at the door, and Mary squeaked loudly and broke away from him to duck to the side of the balcony, where the wall would hide her. Bash swore loudly, making Mary giggle, and then stalked into the armory once more, throwing open the door with a glare on his face that made the guard on the opposite side shrink back, clearly not expecting that. "What?" Bash asked irritably, and the guard started to stutter about the arrival of Diane, and that the king had requested his presence. Groaning under his breath, Bash nodded and slammed the door back in the guard's face, and could hear the distant musical tinkle of Mary's laughter. "Stop enjoying this so much," he hissed teasingly at her as she rounded the corner again, both of their swords in her hands, and she smiled at him, leaning up to peck his lips chastely once before pulling back and returning the swords to their place on the wall.

"I'd like some privacy just as much as you, Bash," Mary said, nearly shocking him, and then turned to open the door. "But right now I need to change. I can't go greet your mother in _this_," she said, appalled, and Bash leaned against the wall in an exaggerated motion, his eyes sweeping over her legs.

"Why not?" He drawled, and Mary rolled her eyes, a combination of a scoff and a laugh escaping her throat.

"Always good to know a crown hasn't made you any less cheeky." She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the armory, and he sighed dramatically, letting her lead him back to his quarters, back to confining royal clothing, back to being the dauphin, back to having to be the dutiful son to his parents. He would have hated it if it were anyone else, but with Mary, well...he didn't mind the confinement of rules and restrictions so much when she was smiling at him like sunshine. So when she paused outside his quarters, a shy smile on her lips, he stopped, waiting for her to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

"Can we do this again tomorrow?" She asked slowly, her eyes flicking up to meet his, and he could feel himself falling in love with her all over again.

"Of course," he grinned, and Mary matched his smile with exuberance, leaning up to kiss him before nearly running through the hallways, no doubt to let her ladies transform her back into the queen she was. Bash watched her go long after she was out of his sight, wondering just when it was he'd gotten so damn lucky, and would have likely stayed that way for another hour, had Alec not shown up, informing him that his mother was already in the throne room. So Bash slipped into his room with a sigh, hurrying to get dressed and greet his mother, trying not to show how glad he was that she was finally back at court. He still felt the black cloud of Catherine's scheming on his shoulders, but with his mother back and Mary taking to their secret lessons so eagerly, Bash finally dared to allow himself a bit of relaxation.


End file.
